Guardian Angel
by freakily obsessed Yassen fan
Summary: Crowley appreciates his guardian angel. CrowleyXAziraphale slash.


**Short Good Omens oneshot. Crowley appreciates his guardian angel. It's slash, ok? Don't like? Don't read. Simple. :) Review please! And I own nothing. Apart from Christian... Which is scary. And thanks to Alias Smith for getting me to re-write this and make it better!**

For almost as long as he could remember, Aziraphale had been a part of Crowley's life. He'd been his rock, the one constant in 4,000 years of what passed as life. Since the last few days in Eden, they had always been aware of each other. They could go for months, years even, without seeing each other, but they always managed to collide, usually in a clash of tempers which ended up being soothed by a few bottles of wine in the early hours of the morning, when they holed up in the back room of Aziraphale's bookshop to discuss the various shortcomings of "Upstairs" and "Downstairs".  
On the odd occasion, they would run out of words and Crowley had learned that then it was only a question of whether or not they would make it to Zira's bedroom before they ended up on the floor in an unruly tangle of long pale limbs and wings.  
At first, Crowley had worried that it would spoil their tentative friendship. If anything, it had made it stronger.  
They were lying in each other's arms when it happened. Crowley lay on top of the duvet, his chest bare in the pale November moonlight. Black jeans clung to his legs. His black-haired head rested on Aziraphale's stomach and his eyes were closed as long slender fingers ran through his hair.  
Neither of them had spoken for close to an hour and the sound of their breathing echoed slightly in the cocoon that they had formed, pressing their wings together in a whirl of black and white. Crowley had shifted one of his slightly to allow a chink of moonlight to fall across his face.  
Afterwards, as he sat amongst the wilting, neglected plants in his flat, he thought that if he hadn't left that gap, maybe everything would have gone to plan. Maybe it would have been Aziraphale forcing himself every day to get up, to move, to live.  
But it wasn't.  
As the killer crept into the room, a floorboard squeaked slightly. Crowley snapped upright and found himself facing a water pistol. It could have been funny, but some instinct warned him that he was facing about two hundred millilitres of holy water. And it was aimed between his eyes.  
The one holding it was a human. His name was Christian. Crowley could almost read him through his eyes. There were flashes of fire there, of screaming. A small boy wandering alone through the rubble and a dark winged figure silhouetted against the skyline, watching the carnage. Crowley pulled back mentally and focused on the here and now. All that was visible of Christian were his eyes and they were full of hatred. Crowley sat still, frozen in place by fear and guilt, as the eyes crinkled up into a humourless smile. The finger on the trigger tightened.  
And Zira suddenly filled the world, his arms flung wide. His wings knocked Crowley backwards, but as his face hit the duvet, he heard the squirt of water, heard it spatter against Zira's marble chest. For a fraction of a second, Crowley thought that Zira would be ok. He was an angel and it was holy water. It shouldn't hurt him. It shouldn't hu…  
The sound that Aziraphale made then went beyond a scream. It was a high pitched wailing groan. It was ancient, all the pain in the world combined into that one sound. It drove Crowley to his feet, his wings fanning out behind him as he sprang instinctively towards the attacker. Obviously, angels and demons both got on badly with holy water. The man stumbled back, his eyes suddenly full of fear. He slammed the door behind him and Crowley reached out a hand to clasp the doorknob, his yellow eyes gleaming maniacally.  
"Crowley," Aziraphale choked. He turned instantly and was at the angel's side half a second later.  
"Zira..." he murmured, cradling his lover's head gently in his hands, his thumbs rubbing the tears from Aziraphale's cheeks.  
"Behave. I can't... I can't watch over you all the time anymore." Crowley almost laughed when Zira told him to behave, but it came out more as a sob.  
"Don't go," he whispered. Zira smiled and clasped Crowley's hand.  
"You'll see me again," he promised. One final breath left his lips with his last smile.  
That had been a month ago. Crowley had forced himself to his feet, sweeping up his T-shirt. He'd considered taking something of Zira's too, but "Upstairs" would soon be all over this place and he didn't want any trace of his presence to be left here.  
"I'm sorry," he choked out, taking one last look at Zira's body on the floor. The familiar snap of the door closing behind him was heartbreaking.  
And now he sat on the floor of his flat under the gaze of a baleful December moon, his wings wrapped tight around his slender body, his feline eyes closed tight against the pain. The moonlight fell across the smoothly interlocking feathers coating his wings, giving them the same oily sheen as raven's wings. A single tear trickled down his cheek, a clear diamond that shattered as it hit the polished floor.  
He couldn't believe that Zira was gone. The reality crashed down on him once more and he bowed his head, pressing his forehead into his knees. "Zira," he groaned. "I'm sorry, Zira." The tears were falling thick and fast now, running down his bare arms and soaking into his jeans.  
"Really, my dear," a familiar voice murmured, "you shouldn't neglect them. How are they going to keep up with you ridiculous demands if you don't water the poor things?" Crowley choked back a sob, his entire body stiffening.  
"Aren't you going to say hello?" The words were accompanied by a light touch brushing over the arch of his wings. His head snapped up, his wings parting.  
The man standing over him wasn't familiar. His hair was so blonde it was almost white, his eyes the deep blue of a Caribbean ocean. But the teasing light in his eyes was Zira's. The tone of polite exasperation was Zira's. And the smile was definitely that of Crowley's lover.  
"Sorry I took so long, my dear. Upstairs are even slower than Downstairs. New bodies are so much bother." He ran a hand carelessly through his hair and laughed.  
"You bastard," Crowley snarled. His tears dried instantly and he sprang to his feet, aided by a quick downward thrust of his wings. His hands balled into fists as he advanced towards Zira. His raised one hand, ready to punch, but when he reached the angel, it loosened and he found his hands cupping his cheeks gently, fingers exploring unfamiliar features.  
"Aziraphale," he murmured. A moment later, their mouths met, gently at first, but then with more urgency. Crowley was glad that he'd chosen to do his sulking in his bedroom.  
An hour later, they were lying side by side, wrapped in Aziraphale's shimmering white wings. Crowley ran lazy fingers over Zira's chest, feeling complete again. He couldn't live without his guardian angel. Just as Zira couldn't live without his guardian demon.


End file.
